


Intricate Rituals

by bottledyarn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Bad Parent John Winchester, Biting, Bossy Castiel (Supernatural), Choking, Internalized Homophobia, Light Choking, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Manhandling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Um what else, Undernegotiated Kink, angstyish porn but also fluff?, porn with a happy ending?, referenced dean/others, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28662777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledyarn/pseuds/bottledyarn
Summary: Cas stayed against the wall where Dean had shoved him. His arms hung at his sides, and he considered Dean with a steady gaze.Dean felt his heart thudding in his ears, and he cleared his throat. "What are you staring at me like that for?”Cas squinted slightly and his head slowly tilted, like he justneededto see Dean at a slightly different angle, and Dean’s body went hot and tense.“You want me to hurt you,” Cas said carefully, and Dean’s stomach dropped.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 29
Kudos: 305





	Intricate Rituals

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags

Dean found himself shoving Cas with both hands. He wasn’t sure how they got to this point. They’d been arguing about...something. Something important, probably. It’s not like they just...argued about stupid shit all the time or anything. It was definitely something important, but at the moment, Dean wasn’t thinking so much as just _doing._

His hands slammed against Cas’s chest, every part of his palms pressing against the warm, soft fabric of Cas’s shirt; his fingers curling over the edges of his coat; fingertips digging in as he pushed. 

Cas went easily, like he couldn’t just break Dean’s spine if he wanted to, and smacked into the wall Dean pushed him towards, his head throwing back slightly, bonelessly, as he reached the wall, and Dean’s hands were left hovering there, ghosting over Cas’s chest as he glared at the angel. 

Cas stared back at him with a soft, steady gaze. Almost _pitying_ , he grimaced slightly, his mouth quirking down. 

So Dean shoved him again; the thud of Cas’s skull against the wall echoing in the pit of Dean’s stomach. 

“You’re an asshole, Cas,” Dean said, and he pushed closer, his forearm bracing over Cas’s chest. 

“I’m an—?” Cas shook his head slightly. “Dean.”

Dean shoved with his forearm as Cas tried to stand up straighter, tried to pull himself off the wall, closer to Dean with a slow, gentle movement. 

“I’m not going to do this, Dean,” Cas said firmly. “I know you just want to avoid actually _talking_ about this, but—” 

“What, you’re too good to get angry?” Dean snapped, and he stepped back slightly, his fists curling at his sides. “Wouldn’t stoop to that level? Wouldn’t just hit me back?” 

“Why—Dean, I don’t want to hit you,” he said. 

Something angry and cold and wanting unfurled in Dean’s chest and he gritted his teeth as he took a deep breath. “You’ve done it before,” he bit out. 

Cas stayed against the wall, his arms hanging at his sides, and he considered Dean with a steady gaze. Dean felt his heart thudding in his ears, and he cleared his throat. 

“What are you staring at me like that for?” 

Cas squinted slightly and his head slowly tilted, like he just _needed_ to see Dean at a slightly different angle, and Dean’s body went hot and tense. 

“You want me to hurt you,” Cas said carefully, and Dean’s stomach dropped.

“What?” 

Cas pushed himself off the wall and took a measured step closer, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. “You want me...to hurt you,” he repeated, and he took another step, until their chests were close together; Dean could count the eyelashes curling around Cas’s eyes. “To push back.” 

“Man, I don’t—” 

Faster than Dean could think, Cas grabbed Dean’s jacket lapels and twisted, spinning both of them hard until they hit the wall; Dean’s back slamming against it. His throat was tight, catching around his heaving breaths; he swallowed tensely and tried to blink away the light-headed wooziness that spun around him; tried to focus on what he could see and feel outside of himself, outside of the heat shuddering through him. Cas’s hands were still at his chest, still curled tightly into his jacket, he could feel their warmth; could feel where Cas’s knuckles brushed over his skin, where they pressed through his shirt against the keenly, sharply sensitive skin of his nipples. Dean took another breath, his head dizzy. 

“Cas, what—” his voice came out ragged and hoarse. Cas shook him slightly as he spoke, and whatever Dean had intended to say slipped out of his mind as he stared wide-eyed at Cas’s still-steady, unwavering gaze. 

“I have hurt you before,” Cas said slowly, and his hands slid down from Dean’s lapels, brushing across his torso before he raised one and carefully, deliberately, pressed a hand against Dean’s sternum, high enough that his fingertips ghosted at his collarbone. 

Dean choked on his words and he shifted slightly, his knees wobbly; repositioning his legs further apart to stay steady, stay upright.

“Those moments…” Cas’s eyes narrowed on Dean. “They are some of my biggest regrets, but you...you _want_ that.” 

“Wha—Cas, I don’t—” He tried to laugh, but his words kept—kept catching, and— Dean’s face was burning hot, and he blinked fast. When had he lost control of this situation? 

“Don’t lie to me,” Cas said, his chin tipping up slightly as he stared down his nose at Dean. “You think I can’t tell? You think I can’t _feel_...when you long for something?”

“You been reading my mind?” Dean scoffed. Cas’s hand slid up slightly, pushed a little harder, his fingertips pushing gently on Dean’s throat, and Dean’s breath hitched. 

“I don’t have to,” Cas said. Dean’s hand drifted up of its own accord; curling around Cas’s wrist at his throat, and he realized his hands were shaking. 

Cas’s eyes flicked down to where Dean’s hand clung—not pushing or pulling Cas away, just clinging—and his face flickered slightly, his mouth twitching at the sight. 

“If I’d realized,” Cas said, leaning closer, his other hand suddenly searing heat into Dean’s hip, “I could’ve saved you the difficulty of trying to argue with me _all_ the _time_.”

“I wasn’t—” 

“Dean,” Cas said, low and firm, and Dean’s mouth went dry, snapping closed with an audible click. 

“Why do you think you want me to hurt you?” Cas said, his voice suddenly light and casual; his hand slid slowly along Dean’s neck, curving around the back of it, tugging Dean forward slightly. Dean’s hand fell away haltingly, brushing first against Cas’s side and then quickly pressing back against the wall to grasp at the cold, hard surface fruitlessly. 

“Do you think you deserve to be punished?” Cas asked, and his hand carded through Dean’s hair, palming up along the back of Dean’s scalp. Suddenly, his hand went tight, grabbing at Dean’s hair and pulling, hard enough that Dean’s head tipped back into the force, his neck stretching long as a gasp wrenched out of him. “Or is it...nostalgia? You just want to see me as I once was?”

Dean blinked fast, staring up at the ceiling until Cas took a slow breath and his hand loosened slightly, and Dean’s gaze lowered to meet Cas’s again. 

“Or,” Cas said, his chin lowered as he stared at Dean. “Is it that you just want to feel...something.” 

He tugged at Dean’s hair again, hard, downwards, and Dean’s knees faltered; at the pressure he was suddenly sinking, suddenly hitting the ground, kneeling at Cas’s feet, staring up at him. 

Cas’s hand that had been lingering at Dean’s hip was abruptly at Dean’s shoulder instead, his palm cupped over the very spot his own handprint seared into Dean’s flesh so long ago. 

“What is it you want to feel, Dean?” Cas said, and his hand slid from Dean’s hair to the side of his face, his palm brushing at his cheek. Dean leaned into it breathlessly, his head tipping towards the dry warmth. 

“It’s too much,” Cas said, his hand curving along Dean’s jaw. “You have to be in control all the time, don’t you? That much pressure on your shoulders? Is it enough to feel helpless? Or is it something else you want?” 

Dean took a ragged breath and Cas’s thumb brushed across his parted lips. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what it was, what that raw, clawing _hunger_ was that made him push and strike out like a cornered animal—that made him want to see something other than placid, steady _affection_ in Cas’s eyes, wanted to see something colder and hotter all at once, something angry and demeaning and calculating. He couldn’t name it, he couldn’t even see it half the time for all the burning fury it created, for all the hollow cold it forged that festered in his limbs and made him cringe from the flirtatious reach of blonde twenty-somethings at bars. 

“Is it me?” Cas said, his voice low as he pushed at Dean’s jaw, tipping his head back effortlessly. His thumb tugged at Dean’s lip, catching against it. “Maybe...you think that it’s the only way I’ll touch you.”

Dean shivered; something that started low on his spine and crawled upwards. 

“Tell me what you want, Dean,” Cas murmured. His eyes seemed darker—was it the angle, or was it...something else? 

Dean’s fingers tingled restlessly at his sides, and he raised them, grasping at Cas’s coat as he stared up at him. What did he want? It was too much to name; too much to take. It was everything—the feeling that chased him, the feeling that caught in his throat when he glanced over his shoulder and found that Cas was still watching even as Dean walked away, the feeling that curled in the pit of his stomach when Cas’s hands twitched towards him but never touched. 

His tongue darted out, a mind of its own, and Cas’s thumb shifted—to avoid him, or to try and catch the movement? Dean could feel his pulse, it was beating a rhythm into his bones. 

And he leaned forward slightly, opening his mouth and pulling Cas’s thumb into his mouth with a slow, deliberate motion. 

“I can’t read your mind, Dean,” Cas said, and it felt as though a heavy, grey cloud pulled downwards at Dean, his stomach twisted, and he started to lean back, away from Cas—he couldn’t put it into words, Cas had to _know_ that—when Cas’s hand tightened and held Dean fast. 

“So you’ll have to tell me if you want me to stop,” Cas said, and Dean’s vision blurred, a heady wave of heat rushing through him. 

Then, sudden and frigid as an unwelcome breeze, Cas stepped away, and Dean’s shoulder and cheek and lips went cold, and he fell forward, catching himself on one hand before scrambling up as Cas turned and walked away. 

“Where are you—” Dean managed hoarsely, his hands twitching to grasp something. 

Cas glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, and paused. Dean gaped at him wordlessly, and Cas raised a hand between them and slowly crooked a finger. 

Dean’s feet stumbled into motion under him, chasing after Cas as he walked oh-so-casually through the bunker, towards the bedrooms. Dean’s own bedroom door hung open as he staggered into the hall after Cas, and when he reached the doorway he found Cas sitting at the edge of the bed, pulling off his shoes, his coat and jacket already draped over a chair.

Dean swallowed, frozen in the doorway, his limbs stiff. Cas practically looked naked, and he was still wearing almost an entire suit. As soon as he was barefoot, Cas looked up at Dean, his gaze quickly going from neutral to some warm, squinted...demeaning stare. 

Cas rose in a quick, fluid motion and stood in front of Dean. With Cas’s shoes off and Dean still in his boots, he had to look down slightly to Cas, but the stiff heat in his spine insistently said _this is someone who could tear you apart_. 

Cas’s eyes flicked to Dean’s feet and back up again. 

“Take it off,” he said evenly. 

“Take—take what off?”

Cas rolled up his sleeves slowly, his expectant stare fixed on Dean. “Am I going to have to ask you twice?” 

Dean pulled off his jacket with shaking hands, walking unsteadily over to set it on the chair with Cas’s coat. Seeing them piled together—something quiet and small in Dean crept further from its hiding place, something greedy and wicked and wanting.

He glanced back at Cas uncertainly, and Cas just stood there, arms crossed, _waiting_. With his head lowered slightly, his dark blue eyes half-obscured by eyelashes and shadow, he looked—he looked almost like he had back when he was still _a soldier of heaven_ and Dean’s chest would hollow out in entangled fear and want at every hard stare. 

Dean swallowed, and he toed at his boots until he was flat-footed against the floor, and with his breath uneven in his throat, he pulled off his socks and started thumbing the buttons of his shirt open. 

His shirt fell with a soft noise to the floor and his arms prickled with goosebumps as Cas slowly stepped closer. 

“Is—should I, you think—should I take off...more?” Dean said haltingly, his breath shuddering in and out of him, his pulse jittering his hands. 

Cas reached out and gripped the front of Dean’s t-shirt tightly, his fingers twisting the fabric so it pulled forward and the collar tugged at the back of his neck. 

“I think you should get on the bed,” Cas said, and he turned them around, manhandling Dean with a heavy hand pushing at his hip and a hard shove until he was sprawled on his back, staring up at Cas. 

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean breathed. 

Cas slowly leaned forward, one knee bracing onto the bed beside Dean’s waist, and he reached for Dean’s jaw, grasping it tightly in hand. 

“It’s Castiel,” he said, lowering his head in close enough that Dean could feel his breath against his cheek, and a shudder ran through him. 

“Castiel,” Dean said, and a tense bolt of want sliced down his spine. “ _Castiel_ —” 

Cas’s other hand dragged up along Dean’s stomach, lingering where his ribs curved apart just beneath his chest, where his breath rose and fell raggedly., and his thumb brushed over Dean’s nipple through his shirt. Dean’s hand moved to grasp, to steady himself against Cas’s, but Cas’s head tilted slightly, warningly. 

“Ah,” he said, and his fingers tightened on Dean’s jaw, hard enough that the points where his fingers dug into the skin burned. “I didn’t say you could touch.” 

Dean’s hands froze, awkwardly hovering above the bed. 

“Above your head,” Cas said, and his hands suddenly dropped away as he stood up straight again. “Grab the sheets—like that. _Perfect_.”

The last word was so low it was almost a growl, and an odd, high noise hitched out of Dean’s throat as he fisted his hands into the sheets above his head. 

“Beautiful,” Cas said, almost offhandedly, and Dean tensed.

“You are,” he said, and his hands were back—trailing along Dean’s thighs, gradually growing firmer through the denim. “Do you know how it’s pained me to not be able to touch you?” 

One of his hands gripped Dean’s thigh, digging hard into the meat of his leg. 

“You’re frustrating,” Cas said, and he stepped closer, nudging Dean’s knees apart to step between them. “You push and push, and you never let me...touch.” 

His hand pressed over the bulge where Dean’s cock strained against his jeans, and Dean jolted, a gasp wrenching out of him. His grip tightened briefly before it slid away and a hotter, damper pressure replaced it. Dean lifted his head slightly and saw Cas’s mouth pressed to his jeans, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face.

“Oh, god,” Dean muttered, throwing his head to the side. Some small, still-thinking-coherently corner of his brain fixated briefly on the bedroom door that hung open and said _thank god Sam isn’t home._

“I said to call me Castiel,” Cas said, and he quickly stood and grabbed Dean by the waist and pushed and lifted, practically _threw_ Dean, until Dean was fully on the bed, his legs flung out akimbo and his arms tangled in the sheets. He pulled Dean’s t-shirt up and quickly wrenched it over his head before nodding darkly at the headboard Dean was now inches from. Dean’s hands moved before he could process, before he could wonder what the nod meant, and they gripped the cold metal rods above his head. 

“ _Good_ ,” Cas purred, and he crawled over him, straddling Dean and sitting on his thighs.

Dean had no time to think through the haze of _what the fuck is happening_ before Cas was undoing the button of his jeans and tugging them down and mouthing against his dick through the gray fabric of his boxer-briefs, dampening the fabric before yanking those down too and leaving Dean entirely exposed beneath him. 

Cas stared down at Dean for a long moment, and Dean shifted nervously. He’d never felt so—watched. So _seen._

“I’ve touched every cell in your body,” Cas said, running a hand along Dean’s ribs. “I stitched you together. And you’ve hidden yourself from me ever since. And for what?” 

His other hand swiftly moved between Dean’s legs and took his balls in hand, tugging lightly at them as the other grasped at Dean’s ribs, forcing his back to arch into the touch as his legs jerked and bent at the knees. 

“To deny yourself what you want?” Cas said, and he eased back again, and his hand released and slid lower until the dry pad of one of his fingers pressed at Dean’s hole. The heat, the friction, the pull—Dean’s hands tensed sweatily against the headboard. 

“Lube—Cas, Castiel, I have, I have lube, in the drawer—”

“And I’m an angel,” Cas said, and he pushed hard, against the burn, but as he did, an odd, cold feeling sluiced into Dean and he was suddenly slick, Cas’s fingers sliding in and crooking into Dean’s heat. 

“Oh, Jesus _Christ_ —” 

“Not him, either,” Cas hummed, and a second finger pressed beside the first, and Dean yelped. Cas’s other hand gripped his ribs tighter, hard enough that Dean knew he’d be bruised, pale blue ghostly smudges of fingerprints across his ribcage. 

Dean panted as Cas worked him open, his fingers smoothing past years of disuse, years of being untouched. Of pretending that he didn’t know how good it felt, to let something in, to have someone hover over him, to feel that heavy warmth pressing down on him. 

Cas leaned back suddenly and loosened his tie with rough movements before pulling it off entirely. Dean’s mouth went dry as Cas shucked off his shirt and his hands lingered at his slacks, palming himself. A gnashing, cold little voice in Dean’s head suddenly snapped quiet—Cas wanted this as much as him. He didn’t just want to touch for the sake of it, or want to make Dean feel good in some distant, angelic way, he _wanted_ him. 

“Over,” Cas said firmly, and he rose up and off Dean as he pulled his slacks off. Dean’s hands fell from the headboard limp and he took a deep breath. 

“I said, _over_ ,” Cas said, and he grabbed Dean and flipped him hard, leaving him panting into the mattress. “That was always your weak point, wasn’t it, Dean? Obeying?” 

Cas pulled at Dean’s hips and dragged him slightly upright until he was on his hands and knees on the bed, fingers clawed into the sheets. 

“You know,” Cas said thoughtfully, one of his hands sliding down Dean’s sweat-slick spine as the other held him up by the waist. “When I’ve imagined you like this, I always thought you’d be controlling. Mean, even. I never imagined something like this.” 

Dean’s breath was coming fast and shallow, and he couldn’t seem to slow it. 

“It’s beautiful,” Cas said. “You’re beautiful, like this.” 

“Just— _please_ ,” Dean said. “I need—”

Cas shifted behind him and he felt a heavy, hot weight at his entrance, and a moan strained out of him as he shifted back slightly, into the pressure. 

“I should’ve known,” Cas said, and he pushed forward slightly, finally, and Dean closed his eyes to better feel the slight burn and stretch and heat. “That moment in the alley—you’d have let me do this then, wouldn’t you? I felt the longing, I thought you wanted death, but you wanted _this_ , didn’t you?”

Dean’s eyes snapped open. He remembered the alley, he remembered the way Cas threw him against the wall like he weighed nothing. He remembered the way Cas pressed himself up against Dean, the way he could feel every inch of him, the way his eyes burned bright and furious. Cas pulled at Dean’s hip as he pushed forward, settling deep into Dean. Dean waited for him to move, but Cas held still, _completely_ still. 

“Answer me.” 

“I—yes,” Dean gasped; almost sobbed. Cas’s fingers tightened. “ _Yes,_ this is what I wanted. _Castiel._ ” 

Cas finally moved, his cock dragging against Dean’s prostate as he withdrew; a pulsing pleasure flickering through him at the movement. He quickly moved faster, the phantom lube—fucking _angel lube_ , Dean couldn’t believe it—making every stroke smooth and slick. He shifted, started moving faster, and Dean felt heat coil low between his hips as Cas hit his prostate again and _again_ , and his hand held Dean’s hips upright, kept him flush against Cas. 

“Oh, god, Cas—”

Dean’s elbows went wobbly and he slipped, falling down until his arms braced against the bed and cheek pressed to the sheets. 

Cas leaned down over him, one hand pressing into the bed beside Dean’s head, the other still gripping Dean’s hip to hold him up, to make sure that when his hips snapped forward, every inch of him drove deeper into Dean. 

He could feel Cas’s breath ghosting at his back; prickling pleasure skittered from that warmth down his spine. 

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean gasped. 

Then teeth dug hard into the meat of Dean’s shoulder, sharp and unyielding, and Dean cried out as sparks flickered behind his eyelids and pleasure punched through him. 

“Oh, god, I’m—” 

Cas shifted back upright behind him and jerked him through it as he kept slamming into him, his thrusts growing rapid and unsteady as Dean’s body lit up, as his nerves went bright and obliterating all at once. 

It all went fuzzy; Cas’s movements slowing as Dean went boneless, all his muscles suddenly limp. He blinked through the fog and felt careful hands roll him over; felt a warm wetness slide along his stomach briefly, and he breathed heavily, trying to get his bearings on the world. When he could see clearly again, Cas was hovering beside the bed. 

“Cas?” Dean propped himself up on his elbows. “You got somewhere to be?” 

Cas shifted almost nervously—Dean wanted to laugh at the thought of Cas being _nervous_ after—after being like _that_. 

“I wasn’t sure if—if you’d want to...”

Dean frowned, staring up into Cas’s worried gaze. “What—pretend this never happened?”

Cas’s face shuttered into a distant, cold expression, and he nodded slightly and turned towards the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, his shoulders tight. 

“Cas!” Dean pushed himself upright and stumbled as his feet hit the floor, his knees much more _pliant_ than he was used to. He grabbed Cas’s arm and pulled him to face him. Cas’s mouth was set in a firm line, and his eyes dropped, avoiding Dean’s. 

“I understand,” Cas started, a frown creasing his forehead. 

“Cas, I—” words failed Dean, and he leaned into Cas, catching his lips with his own, just the ghost of a kiss, before pulling back and watching Cas’s expression shift. 

“I don’t—” Dean gritted his teeth. The talking part was hard. “I never just wanted—that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, that part—that part’s great, but it’s you. It’s just you. It’s _only_ you, really, I haven’t really, I don’t think I—”

Before he could talk himself into a corner Cas grasped his face and pulled Dean back to him, coaxing Dean’s mouth open and making a small, satisfied whine into the kiss. 

“Oh,” Dean said, letting himself be gently pushed backwards until they were both sitting on the bed. 

They could’ve had this years ago. He could’ve tasted the static electricity on Cas’s tongue, could have dug his hands into Cas’s hair and pulled him closer. 

Apropos of nothing, a low voice echoed in the back of Dean’s mind, John’s voice, John’s _disdain_. Dean withdrew sharply, panting, shaking, his mind buzzing thoughtlessly around that image, around the scorn in his father’s eyes when he’d strolled into the motel room on one of their hunts after Sam went to college and saw what his son _got up to_ when he was away. 

Cas’s hands went slack. “...Dean? Are you alright?” 

Cas started to pull away, and Dean reached out quickly, holding him from moving. He nodded, but squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the frantic thudding of his heart to slow. 

“Sorry,” he said finally, his hands grasping at Cas’s hipbones. 

Cas’s hands slowly, hesitantly lifted and began to move towards Dean’s face until they bracketed him, holding him together. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” 

“I don’t understand why—why you would want me,” Dean said breathlessly. “I’m—I’m broken. Always have been, I don’t—I can’t—”

“Dean,” Cas said. “I would face the wrath of heaven and hell if it meant I could be near you for a moment.” 

Dean started to say something, some unformed protest, but Cas cut him off. “You can’t deny it,” he said. “I’ve done it before. And have I not seen you at your worst?” 

Dean’s heart panged, and he leaned into one of Cas’s warm palms. 

“It’s a lot,” he said hoarsely. “I’m afraid...”

He meant to say something, say what he was afraid of—of losing Cas, of letting him down, of disappointing his dead father—but the words died in his throat. Cas’s hands slid away, and Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor, a weight pulling at his chest. 

“I love you, Dean,” Cas said plainly, and Dean’s breath caught. 

When he met Cas’s eyes, they were clear and honest, unfaltering. 

“I—” Dean swallowed. He tipped his head slightly, pleadingly, at Cas. _Tell me you can tell that I mean it,_ he prayed.

“I know,” Cas said, and Dean blinked.

“Did you just—” 

“Han Solo you?” Cas said. “Charlie taught me.” 

“You—!” 

Dean scrambled to push Cas back against the bed and swing a leg over him. He gaped down at Cas, who laughed breathlessly, a wide grin on his face. 

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Cas laugh like that—like for once, everything was right in the world. He leaned down to kiss the proud smirk off Cas’s face. Maybe, for once, for now, everything was.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a lot of things--that sunforgrace tumblr post about Dean constantly trying to start fights with Cas because he just wants to *get thrown around a little* (https://sunforgrace.tumblr.com/post/639800993070120960/nothoughtsjustdestiel), bendingsignpost's fic "Four Letter Word for Intercourse," my own headcanons about Dean, etc etc.  
> I'm @sgtjmsbrns on tumblr :)


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